


Hold Your Breath

by xfandomwritingsx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Reader has the Dark Mark, Slow Burn, Smut, more like friends to lovers to enemies to lovers but whatever, non-slytherin reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:08:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26901901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xfandomwritingsx/pseuds/xfandomwritingsx
Summary: After decisions put you on opposite side of the war, returning to Hogwarts to finish your education proves to be challenging. Maybe closure isn’t the only thing you need from Draco.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Reader
Comments: 10
Kudos: 52





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Okay look, I’m BAD with the canon timeline. So just… suspend your disbelief with me, if you could, for anything that doesn’t add up timeline-wise.
> 
> This was only supposed to be like a 5k oneshot and then, like always, it expanded and now it's a slow burn. What is wrong with me?

_June 1997_

The sky is practically black. The torches from the castle that used to give you such a pleasing and safe sensation just feel ominous and taunting. The unusually chill air nips at your face as you wait for him under the tree. Having not brought a sweater, every part of you is cold with the exception of your arm that still burns just slightly after the Dark Mark was singed into your skin. You focus on the cold parts of you.

Cold is a welcome change. It doesn’t resemble sweat peppering your skin as you sit in a hard chair, nerves jittering through you and just hoping He doesn’t look your way. Cold doesn’t remind you of how you keep waking up in the middle of the night, skin burning from nightmares or how your face heats red when you cry. Cold is good.

The only warmth you’ve enjoyed in the last months was Draco’s touch just a few nights ago. The night that in moments of both weakness and strength, you confided in one another and fell into bed together. You succumbed to passion and pleasure which brought a euphoria that felt sinful for just existing. It was that night that lead you here, standing in the cold, on the edge of change.

Draco comes up the hill in a dark coat, pink cheeks, and wearing a somber expression. It’s the only expression he wears most days now and you hate it. You never thought you’d long to see him sneer or roll his eyes like he did so frequently when you were younger, but you would give almost anything for it now. You want your friend back just as much as you want your innocence back.

Draco doesn’t say anything as he comes up to you, takes your cold hands in his, and rests his forehead on yours. Both of you take a moment to just breathe, to feel the other and try to release the tension your bodies have been holding. It doesn’t work, but it’s a nice little reprieve to pretend it does.

“What did you need?” he asks so quietly that you barely hear him. You take a deep breath, trying to suck in the courage that’s on the cusp of escaping you. The wind blows softly from behind you, sweeping through the thin cotton of your shirt and chilling your back.

“I want you to come with me.” He pulls away from you with his brow wrinkled in confusion. “You and I both know what’s about to happen.” There’s war brewing in the shadows and the electricity of it is palpable. “I’m not going to be my parents. I’m not joining Him.” You’re surprised with how firm your words sound. You’d only ever said them in your head until now. You look up at Draco and the furrow is replaced with wide eyes and the threat of fear. “Ginny’s family has offered to let me stay with them.” His eyes squint again.

“The girl Weasel?” His disgust is clear and your shoulders lower in defeat. You shouldn’t have expected a different response.

“Draco,” you scold him softly. “They’re nice people, _good_ people, and they’re willing to hide us, keep us safe.”

“Us?” He pulls away a little farther, but you squeeze his hands and lean in, holding him close to you. “Did you tell them about me?” The fear raises in his voice and you shake your head violently. “Did you tell them about my assignment?” You have to pull on his hands to keep him from stepping away.

“No!” you shout above his worries. “I wouldn’t do that.” There’s a part of you that wants to feel offended he’d think that, but you can’t blame him for being over cautious. “I just mentioned me, but I know they’d let you in too.” You lean in again, seeking that warmth he’d given you before. “Come with me,” you beg. You truly believe he will, can practically feel it in your bones. After the other night, after pouring your hearts out to one another in the ways that you did, you know he doesn’t want to do the things he’s being forced to do. You can run away together. You can find happiness.

“No.” And just like that, all the hope you have inside of you shatters to pieces.

“What?” You think you must have misheard him. Fear starts to fill you. That panicked heat you dread so much fills in your belly and spreads up to your chest as you desperately try to hang onto those broken pieces of hope.

“I can’t go.” He lets go of your hands with a forceful shake and when you try to reach out for them again, he steps away from you. “How could you think that’s a good idea?” You cross your arms over your middle and shrink back as he continues to hiss angrily at you. “Do you have any idea what He’d do?”

“We’d be safe,” you try to convince him, suddenly feeling small, like a scolded child.

“There’s no such thing.” His cold eyes look you up and down once before huffing out a breath of air in repulsion that makes your blood boil. Without saying anything more, he turns to walk away.

You can’t go back now. With or without him, you know you have to leave. You _can’t_ be on the wrong side of history any longer. You’re not even sure you’d survive it if you were.

“I’m going!” you yell at him. He stops his retreat and looks over his shoulder at you. His eyes don’t meet yours.

“Go then.” His words are soft as if it hurts him to say it. Tears brim up in your eyes and when he finally looks at your face, there’s just one moment where you think he might give in and come back to you.

But he doesn’t. He just leaves you.


	2. A Blank Page

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m trying to keep the reader’s house open for interpretation, but I think it’s pretty plain to see that in my head, she’s a Ravenclaw. I’m also not a fan of this chapter. This is the chapter in which I converted what I had written of the oneshot into a longer piece so there are bits that to me still have a different feel than the rest. Makes it a little choppy when I read it, but hopefully it’s not bad for you!

_September 1998_

The world looks the same as it always has outside of the train window, but it all feels different. Colors still feel muted and even though there’s less chaos raging behind the trees, they still give you an ominous feeling deep in your gut. There are familiar faces on the train, but not enough to make you feel at home. Eyes either avoid yours or stare uncomfortably long. You feel out of place. You’re not supposed to be here.

But, yet, here you are. Your classmates have affectionately dubbed it “The 8th Year” at Hogwarts and even that makes you feel ill-fitting since you didn’t actually attend any of your 7th year so how could it possibly be considered your 8th? You had spent all of last year in hiding, most of which at The Burrow working to gain trust and prove your worth. You’d spent the end of it fighting on the winning side and risking your life for people you once hated.

You don’t belong.

And right now, if you could, you might just get off the train and call it quits on the whole 8th year idea. But you’re already committed now and you refuse to be labeled a quitter. It’s time to move on and build a life for yourself and you know that starts with finishing your education as best you can. So you swallowed the nausea and stayed.

You are one of the last ones off the train partly because you don’t like being in the crowd and partly because you hope it might lessen the stares. Armed with a bag filled almost entirely of long sleeved shirts, you take a deep breath and step onto the platform.

The air is warm, though the threat of colder weather ahead lingers in the air. You yearn for it, having taken a liking to the cold in the last year or so. Trees still hold their color so you suspect you have to wait just a little while for it yet. At least it gives you something to look forward to.

You begin your walk down the platform, feet padding gently along the wood. _One step at a time,_ you tell yourself. One foot in front of the other until they suddenly stop when the sight of Draco exiting the train a few doors down causes your lungs to seize. You’d heard he would be attending so it shouldn’t have stunned you to see him, but it did. You had chosen to ignore the fact that you’d likely run into him, instead choosing to blindly hope you could somehow avoid him all year.

The thinning crowd of people allows you to see him fairly clearly. He’s looks good, well and healthy even. The little boy who broke your heart had grown into a man somehow. Perhaps in the four short months since the end of the war, he had healed. Maybe he was atoning for his wrongs. A softness in your heart grows as you watch him, letting yourself briefly daydream about a happy reunion filled with apologies and hope for the future.

His eyes scan the platform and when they fall on you, your heart speeds up anxiously. His look is not warm or friendly and when you recognize the façade painted on his face, your girlish fantasies are wiped away. He’s nothing more than the same boy he’s always been, playing pretend in a black dress jacket and trousers with a coward’s fear hidden behind his steely eyes.

He doesn’t even acknowledge you, just keeps scanning the platform before adjusting his jacket and continuing on his way. Pushing back the anger you feel starting to bubble, you tighten your grip on your bag and make your way to the carriages by yourself.

~~~

Your memories of him have always come in waves and the last two weeks have been no different as you settled into your new, old routine at school. You can go hours, even days without thinking about him and then out of nowhere, a memory will hit you so strongly that you feel like you’ve entered a pensieve.

Even now, looking at him across the great hall, you can still remember his touch. You can still practically feel his breath on your skin, your nails in his back. It was pain and comfort all in one. You remember how he’d laid his head in your lap afterwards. You still can’t be sure if the wetness left on your thighs was sweat or if he’d cried while he laid with you.

You cringe at how you had so naively thought that was the end of it. You were his salvation and he’d wake up the next morning and run away with you to the other side, to the _right_ side of the war. But those had been foolish, little girl dreams. And you promised yourself after seeing him exit the train that you wouldn’t get involved with Draco Malfoy again.

So why can’t you stop staring at him?

Maybe because he hasn’t so much as acknowledged your existence yet and that, more than anything, pisses you off even if it shouldn’t. Despite your vow to yourself, you crave him talking to you, looking at you, noticing you’re alive for Merlin’s sake! Instead, you feel like you’ve been completely invisible to him. While this clearly made it easier to not get involved, it bothers you. He’s taking away your _choice_ to be rid of him which is just rude.

Fingers snap in front of your face.

“Do you just want to hex him and be done with it?” Ginny asks next to you, a ghost of a smile on her lips. One positive of this year; the voluntary segregation of sitting with your house had been all but completely abandoned, allowing you to sit with the very few friends you have. “You could probably do it with minimal punishment.”

“I don’t want to hex him,” you argue softly, forcing your eyes back down to the plate in front of you. Ginny raises an eyebrow at you.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes!” You let out a huff and poke the food with your fork. “No. Maybe a little bit,” you admit. She nudges your shoulder with her own and sighs sympathetically. Ginny was never someone you thought you’d end up close with, but after staying with her family during the war, she’d become practically like your sister. She’s a better friend than you’d ever had before. Probably better than you deserve too.

“Have you spoken to him?” She keeps her voice quiet amongst the chatter in the hall. You look at her, full of irrational guilt, and shake your head in the smallest fashion you can. “Maybe you should.” You look back to him and remember the way he felt on top of you, whispering your name and the way your legs wrapped around his waist. But then, just as suddenly, you’re hit with the memory of him walking away from you in the middle of the night with a hollowness in your chest.

“I think that’s the last thing I need to do.” You force yourself to stop looking at him throughout the rest of your meal and attempt to join into jovial conversation at the table.

Fate, however, seemed to have heard your words and thusly thrust her middle finger out to you, because Draco is suddenly everywhere. It was inevitable that you run into each other, after all, you had classes together, but he still seems to be within your eyesight an excessive amount; sitting right in front of you during lessons, resting under _your_ favorite tree, always managing to be where you can see his face during meals. Your only reprieve is your common room which you’ve taken to staying in during most of your free time.

Going strictly to and from classes and meals has become tiresome though. You’re starting to feel like you’re back in hiding and can feel a darkness creeping in. You don’t have an abundance of friends at Hogwarts. Or anywhere really. The loneliness threatens to eat away at you sometimes, but you keep it at bay by keeping your nose in your books; a coping skill you’ve become entirely too proficient at executing.

But today you venture out, book in hand, hoping to find a quiet place with a little background noise to read. A change of scenery and a breath of air may help the frayed nerves you haven’t been able to shake these last weeks. Your feet carry you to the library almost without any thought. It had been among one of the first areas rebuilt and reconstructed after the war and though they built it much the same as it had been, it had a distinctively new feel to it.

It’s a bit of a bustle with people, mostly first and second years who think studying is still the most important thing they can do. _Idiots_ , you think. You walk around for a little bit, admiring the fresh wooden tables and shelves, before gravitating towards a back corner. There used to be a couple of chairs in a back row of books by the muggle section that no one ever frequented. With any luck, it might still exist.

Fate smiles down on you, but it’s a wicked smile because yes, your little nook is still there, but so is Draco. He sits in the armchair in plain clothes, an elbow on the armrest, and his face propped up on his fist as he stares down at the book in his lap. His platinum hair falls into his eyes, yet he doesn’t seem to be bothered by it. He looks so ordinary, like he could be any man in the world and it irks you in a way you can’t put into words. He’s _not_ ordinary. He’s _not_ any man. He’s Draco Malfoy.

You stare long enough for him to sense it and look up from his book. And for what feels like for the first time all year, he looks at you. He freezes for just a moment, as though he’s shocked or perhaps scared at the sight of you. Then in a blink it’s gone, replaced by a softer tone in his eyes.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, his voice a rush of warm nostalgia. He closes his book. “I can leave.” Even though you’re negatively shaking your head, he gathers the bag at his feet and stands.

“It’s alright,” you try to tell him. “I’ll just go somewhere else.” He’s already standing up in front of you, ready to slink past. There’s an urge to reach out and grab his arm. You repress it.

“No, it’s fine. You like this spot.” He says it so quickly and his eyes flitter to anything but your face as he passes. Before you can try to say anything else, he’s disappeared beyond more shelves of books, completely out of view.

You’re left standing there looking after him feeling entirely unsatisfied and empty with the interaction. You can’t put your finger on or voice what you wanted to happen, but that certainly wasn’t it.

Sighing, you concede to do what you had come for. Even that proves to be too difficult because when you settle into the chair, it’s still soft with his imprint and warm with his body heat **.** It gives you the barest sensation of having him wrapped around you. It reminisces more than it should of that too-long-hug you shared before he’d kissed you for the first time. The memories washing over you make it too difficult to focus on the words in your book. You snap it shut and leave. The common room is clearly the better place to stay.

~~~

All of your interactions after that are all short and insignificant. He’s always there, but never looks your way. If he does have to speak to you, it’s always in a minimal way. It never fails to leave you frustrated and angry. Even your books aren’t easing your tension like they used to.

It's been nearly a full month now and throwing yourself into your studies hasn’t helped you any either. You’ve practically finished the coursework for half of your classes. Your homework is done well before you wish to go to sleep for the evening. You haven’t set foot outside the castle walls. You have so few friends, no family, and no one who can relate to your troubles. And the one person you’d counted on your whole life, your best friend and the boy you would have done almost anything for, barely even looks at you.

The suffocation of it all comes in the darkness of night. It crushes down on your chest and burns on your arm. Your fucking arm. You’ve scrubbed it. You’ve concealed it. You even went so far as to try to cut the skin off. Nothing works. That skull and snake are with you forever. And everyone knows it.

Some nights you can’t take it. You can’t merely lay in your bed and pretend sleep will come peacefully. So you leave your room. You wander the castle, trying to find those places that bring warmth to your heart and avoid those were people died.

Tonight, you go to the courtyard just to look at the stars. There’s something soulful about the sky. It’s where muggles look to when they pray to a higher power. It holds a universe more expansive than you could ever imagine. It could swallow you whole if you let it or maybe, just maybe one day it will show you how to be happy.

You forcibly don’t recognize that laying in grass and looking up at the sky had been something you and Draco used to do together. It works well enough to let you enjoy the activity again by yourself, but it blinds you to the idea that Draco might be doing the same thing.

You shouldn’t have been so surprised when you reach the courtyard and he’s there, leaning back on the fountain and staring upwards, but you are. When your shoe crunches on the gravel, his head snaps to you and with his own surprise, stands up.

Another short apology. Another move for a quick exit in the opposite direction of you. Your fists clench at your sides, unable to bottle in your anger any longer.

“Oh would you shove off with that?” you snap before he can slip back into the shadows. He turns and raises an eyebrow at you. “I was ready,” you tell him angrily. “I was ready to come back this year and hate you. I was ready to avoid you and shoot you pissed off glares from across the room. Then I get here and _you_ avoid _me_!” His face puzzles for a moment.

“So you want me to try to talk to you so that you can tell me off?” A little bit of his old self, of the Draco you once knew and loved, comes through in an irritated eye roll. “Sorry to disappoint.” You let out a huff of air and cross your arms.

“Why _are_ you avoiding me?” The puzzled look on his face returns.

“The way you’re reacting right now doesn’t answer that question for you?” He tilts his head and hums mockingly. “Not as smart as I thought you were.”

“Smarter than you are, clearly.” He grinds his jaw at your condescension and then he’s walking up to you, getting closer than he’s been all year and your bravery falters for a moment as your feet step you back and your arms uncross to hang useless by your sides.

“ _That’s_ why I haven’t approached you. I don’t need another lecture. I’ve been to trial. I’m on probation. I’ve had everything I’ve ever done wrong put out in front of me in excruciating detail. I don’t need you to give me another run through.” His eyes and his tone are cold, hard. You recognize it all too well and while he’s gotten better at hiding it, you can still see the pain underneath. It tries to soften you, but ultimately fails.

“They shouldn’t have let you come back,” you spit at him, instantly regretting the words when he pulls away. You don’t mean it. Of course you don’t mean it, but you say it with enough venom and hate that he believes it.

“We all made mistakes,” he hisses at you before glancing down to your arm. The heat of his stare practically stings and you have to resist that instinctive pull to hide it away. “I hear you’re the shining example everyone uses to demonstrate that not all bad guys hail from Slytherin, even despite the fact that you changed sides in the end.” The only reason you don’t crack your palm over his cheek is because you give in to the need to hold onto your left forearm tightly, your palm now busy cradling the skull of the Dark Mark underneath your shirt sleeve. “How’s that feel?”

“You’re horrid,” you tell him weakly. He tilts his head again.

“That _is_ what everyone says.” He gives a shrug that tries too hard to be casual and finally steps out of your personal space. With a small shake of his head, he turns to leave again, but you refuse to let him get the last word.

“At least I tried to atone!” you call after him. He pauses, but doesn’t look back. “I did the right thing when it mattered!”

“And where did that get you?” he asks bitterly. “Where did it get your family?” You suck in a harsh breath and try desperately to hold back the tears that are abruptly burning behind your eyes. _Dead_ , you think. _It got them killed._

“They made their own choices.” It sounds rehearsed because it is. You told yourself those same words over and over again every night for months. Your parents weren’t good people. You knew that. They were still your parents though and when you heard He’d killed them, it hurt more than you want to admit. And Draco knew that. Draco knows your weaknesses and your soft spots and just how to twist a knife into you. Perhaps that’s why you hated him so much.

“You don’t bother me and I won’t bother you.” He still hasn’t even so much as looked over his shoulder back at you.

“Fine,” you answer curtly, your hand still wringing around your forearm. When he leaves, you allow yourself to crumple onto the ground and cry. You feel so much hollower than the last time he’d left you in tears. Back then, the air had practically crackled with tension and death and war. Now the air is silent, calm and that makes it all the more unsettling. All the more finite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading darling! If you’ve enjoyed, I ask that you give some kudos or drop a comment!
> 
> If you’re really feeling generous, buy me a coffee!   
> https://ko-fi.com/writerashley
> 
> Keep up with my progress on Instagram!   
> https://www.instagram.com/thatfandomwriter/


	3. Something Wicked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s so little dialogue in this chapter. That’s so strange for me. I’m usually all about the dialogue! But when your characters are determined not to talk or interact I guess this is what happens.

_October 1998_

You stand at your mirror, staring at your reflection and hating the somber look on your face. The dress you’re wearing is lovely; sleek black and magically altered to your body. With the right shoes and classic witch’s hat, it would be the perfect outfit to wear to the party. There’s just one problem with it that causes a large stone to sit in your gut; it has thin straps that go over your shoulders and no sleeves.

Your eyes fall to your arm, to the black ink burned into your skin. There is no way you can walk into a room full of your classmates displaying the Dark Mark. You just can’t.

The Witching Hour Ball, or simply “The Halloween Party” as all the students have taken to calling it, is a new event that is clearly meant to inspire holiday spirit and excitement. A social event to look forward to keeps everyone’s minds off of last year. It works for the most part. While it’s not deemed a costume party, the general consensus amongst everyone is to dress as old fashioned, classic witches and wizards. Even you had to admit that it sounded like a good time and when Ginny offered to lend you a dress, how could you refuse?

She had given you an array of choices and you’d easily settled on two; the one you’re wearing and the one you have an inevitable feeling you’re going to end up choosing simply because it’s a long sleeved dress. The other dress isn’t hideous or anything, it just doesn’t suit you as well even with alteration.

You stare in the mirror longingly as you run your fingers over the corset-looking bodice. A concealment charm is an option, though not one you favor. You aren’t the best at it and it runs the risk of fading before you want it too. It also feels too much like hiding, like pretending it never happened and expecting people not to know the difference. It’s an internal struggle that you know you’re nowhere near resolving any time soon.

You walk over to the long sleeved dress. It’s pretty and simple; long flowing fabric with a tie around the waist. It’s just so… plain.

You can feel the darkness of feeling lonely creep in again as you look at it. There aren’t many students that have the Dark Mark. You’re actually not entirely sure it’s not just you and Draco who bear it and it’s not like he has this problem. Long robes and dress jackets make it very easy for him to hide the mark at social events. Even if he didn’t, it’s like he gets a free pass. No one stares at him nearly as much as they do you. He’s _Draco Malfoy_. You’re just a disposable nobody.

Tired of being alone, tired of worrying about everyone else, you make the bold decision to wear the sleeveless dress and rely on a concealment charm. For once, you want to walk into a room not worry. This party is supposed to make everything and everyone feel normal again. There’s no reason that shouldn’t apply to you too.

~~~

The days pass quickly now since your confrontation with Draco. You don’t like admitting it, but maybe Ginny had been right about getting some kind of closure with him. Although if you’re honest, it didn’t feel like closure. There’s actually a slight emptiness somewhere inside of you, but at least the anger has faded. Even more, you’ve started leaving the common room more frequently, no longer fearing a run in with him. If anything, you _want_ him to see you out unabashedly and happy just to spite him. So no, perhaps it isn’t closure and probably not even healthy, but for the first time in over a year, you’re feeling a little happy and you’re not about to question the reason why.

The decision of your party dress combined with Ginny’s wide smile when you tell her, only feeds into your happiness and by the time the party comes around, you find yourself with a light smile on your face as you put your wand to your arm and whisper a concealment spell. The ink fades into your skin tone and though you can still feel it like a worm in your veins, you can almost convince yourself it’s gone.

With one last look in the mirror and a slight adjustment of the black hat on your head, you leave your room to join the festivities of the night.

The Great Hall has been redecorated entirely and honestly, looks a little bit bigger somehow. Maybe it’s the vacant middle section since tables have been pushed to the sides of the room. Perhaps it’s the ceiling charmed to show an endless night sky filled by a full moon. Or maybe they just actually made the room larger. You can’t tell.

You take a look around as you enter and take it all in. There’s appropriately themed music coming from a pile of pumpkins in one corner with their mouths moving with the lyrics of each song. Some students are even dancing wildly without care to it. At the front of the room where the professors would normally sit, there’s cauldrons filled with different punches and apples floating in water. Add in the resident ghosts and the occasional bats swooping through the air and everything felt so stereotypically “Halloween” that it instantly sucks you into the spirit.

Even through your festive daze, you can’t help but notice the looks some people are sending your way however. There’s a subtle shock at your outfit and then a flicker of their eyes to your arm where they find only skin. Brief confusion or disgust often follows. You swallow your shame and force your chin higher, making your way through the hall to find Ginny.

You don’t have to look long as the moment she spots you, she’s rushing through the crowd in your direction. She greets you with a wide smile and when she links her arm with your concealed one, pulling you over to a group of friends, your worries and uncertainties start to fade away.

Her friends treat you kindly, even the ones you haven’t spoken to much. They don’t shy away from you and instead, actually include you in their conversations. A little ways through the night, a blond haired girl in her 6th year whose name you believe is Jane, even pulls you out onto the dance floor.

You may not be the best dancer at Hogwarts, but you can’t deny that you enjoy it. There’s something liberating about the adrenaline rush that trickles through your body as it moves and the smile plastered on the girl’s face as she takes your hand and twirls you in a circle is intoxicating. It’s the first time in a long time that you can say you’re actually having _fun_.

Through the crowd of moving bodies, your eyes catch those of Draco. You hadn’t noticed him before and had thought perhaps he didn’t even attend, but clearly you were mistaken. He stands towards the wall, sipping contently from a goblet, never one for wildly dancing with his peers. Embracing the student-led theme, he’s wearing large, flowing robes tinted a very dark purple color that suits him a little too nicely. He watches you as you move, but you can’t place the look in his eyes.

Not wanting him to spoil your fun, you move your feet as you bounce to the beat of the song and put your back to him. Out of sight, out of mind, as they say. You keep your focus on Jane and the upbeat music, refusing to let your night be tainted by looks from him.

Slowly, more girls from the group you’ve been with start joining in on the dancefloor. A few of them draw boys in and slowly, but surely you find yourself without a dance partner. Your motions start to slow and you find yourself breathing heavily, the activity having caught you out of breath. Wiping your brow with the back of your hand, you find you’re slick with sweat as well. Slipping back through the dancefloor, you move towards the cauldrons of punch.

It proves difficult. Your raised voiced _excuse me_ ’s are barely making a dent in the air over the loud music. Professors are mingled into the students, starting to break up the couples dancing slightly more inappropriately for a school function and it’s caused little pockets where groups of people squeeze tighter together to avoid them.

You use your hands on shoulders to gently slip and push your way through little gaps as easily as possible. An ill-timed hip swivel from a large boy near the edge of the floor that you’re trying to get by sends you off balance and stumbling into another person. Your shoulder meets their chest and their hands on your middle steady you as you regain your footing.

“I’m so sorry,” you half-shout with embarrassment before looking up to find that it’s Draco with his hands on you. Your embarrassment turns to a little bout of fury because _of course_ it would be him that you fall into. Your mumbled “Thanks,” is far less audible as you forcefully brush his hands off of you.

“Friends ditch you?” he hisses sharply before another bump of people presses him further into your side.

“I’m taking a break,” you snap back, staring coldly up at him. You don’t hear his hum, but rather feels the vibrations of it through his chest. You have a desire to turn into him, to face him and do… something. You’re just not sure what. Before you can act on it though, a small hand sneaks under his arm and up onto his chest. You hear a feminine voice whine his name and the hand pulls him away. His date, you presume.

It gives you the break you need to dart away from him. He turns towards the girl, but you can feel his eyes linger on you just slightly as you get off the dance floor.

The punch is cool and refreshing, some flavor of apple you think. You take your goblet and stand off to the side in a more secluded corner just to stay out of the way. You take your hat off your head and fan yourself with the brim of it for a moment. The top of your head is hot and sticky and you’re sure you look a mess. You imagine it’s getting late as well, but honestly you’re not interested in retiring to your dorm yet.

A conversation off to your right catches your ear as you sip your punch. The voices are muffled, the two girls’ backs to you, but you can make out enough of it.

“Do you think she assumes no one knows?” one of them asks.

“She’d be daft!” There’s a few giggles and you shuffle your feet closer. Gossip has always been a guilty pleasure of yours. It’s even better than reading a good dramatic novel. There’s more hushed words you can’t make out so you shift ever slightly closer and tilt your ear towards them. “You don’t just _hide_ a Dark Mark!”

Nausea twists in your stomach and a burning chill crawls over your back. Instantly, you retreat from the girls, no longer wishing to hear any more of their conversation. The noise of the crowd and the bodies of people all of sudden feel too heavy around you and you’re acutely aware of any sets of eyes on you as you shakily discard of your goblet and attempt to fit your hat back onto your head.

You immerse yourself back into the crowded dancefloor and hurriedly make your way back to where your group had been last. You see a flash of ginger hair and quickly make your way towards Ginny. You give a gentle tug on her arm and she turns to you.

“What’s wrong?” Her smile slides off her face when she sees you, the anxiety clear on your face. You force a smile and shake your head.

“Nothing,” you lie, raising your voice above the music. “I’m just tired and I’m going to head back to my room.” Ginny searches your eyes, trying to decipher what exactly is happening to make you flee.

“I’ll walk you out,” she offers and reaches for your hand. The rest of the group has now stopped their dancing and is moving closer to try to hear what’s going on.

“No!” you tell her, pulling your hand out of her reach and wringing your hands together. “That’s alright. I’ll be okay. Just a little hot.” You bring your arm up to make a show of wiping sweat off your brow with the top of your forearm. It’s then that Ginny’s eyes widen and you catch the gasps of some of the other people circling you.

You know what you’re going to see when you turn your arm over, but it still comes as a hot shock to your system when you see the Dark Mark reappearing on your skin, still fizzing with the effects of a revealing charm. You drop your arm quickly and keep it pressed to your side in a poor attempt to hide it. It’s too late, of course. Everyone has seen it.

The music is still playing, but the sound of conversation and movement is distinctly quieter as more people turn to you to see what’s happening. Gasps and other small sounds of shock or disgust fill your ears in an exaggerated fashion. A couple of people actually take steps away from you as though you’re contagious. When you turn on your heels and look at the crowd staring back at you, you hear the laughs.

A small group of boys are huddled close together, pointing and laughing at you. One of them, one you recognize as Antonin Dolohov’s nephew, is in the middle of putting his wand back into his robes before he sneers at you.

“Can’t hide who you are!” he shouts loudly, making sure he’s heard above the music. Anyone who wasn’t looking your way before, certainly is now and you feel a panic set into your chest as tears start burning behind your eyes. You could have handled if the charm wore off on its own. You had been prepared for that. But to have some cruel boy purposefully remove it in front of everyone?

Ginny reaches out for you again, but you’re already shoving your way out of the ring of people that surround you. Tears blurring your eyes and heels clicking sharply on the floor, you break into a jog once you get off the dance floor and leave the Great Hall in a flurry.

You run past a few stragglers, ignoring the way their eyes follow you curiously and simply try desperately to hold in the sobs until you’re alone. There’s a moment during your run in which your hat comes off of your head, but you pay it no attention. Hand running over the stone wall as you go, you retreat to the nearest empty corridor, relying mostly on the memory of the halls more than your sight to guide you there.

Your back finds the wall and your legs bend, sinking you onto the floor where you crumple into a mess of tears. You tear your hands up under your dress, reaching for your wand that you’d strapped to your thigh. Stretching your arm out, you shove the tip of your wand to your forearm so hard that it hurts. You say the incantation for the concealment charm, but the mark remains.

“Come on!” you cry and try again. Your emotions are too high, you know it. Your voice cracks and as much as you want it to work, the magic doesn’t follow. With a frustrated cry, you throw your wand across the corridor. The tears flow freely over your hot cheeks as you bring your knees to your chest. You fold your arms over your knees and bury your head into your lap.

One night. All you wanted was one night to have fun and be happy and you couldn’t have it. Maybe it’s what you deserved. Maybe this is your punishment and your whole life is just doomed to come crashing down on you.

The gentle click of dress shoes reaches your ears, but you don’t look up. With any luck, whoever it is that’s stumbled upon you will see the ball of tragedy you’ve become and just keep moving. But, as you’ve already discovered, fate is a fickle bitch and your solitary intruder doesn’t walk away. Instead, they pick your wand up off the floor and approach you.

You don’t lift your head, futilely hoping they’ll just take the hint that you want to be left alone. Their shoes stop clicking as they stand to your left and you can practically feel them next to you, looking down at you. There’s a fire inside of you that encourages you to snap at them, to scream at them to leave you alone, but the waterfall of sadness and despair douses it too easily.

You steel yourself with a heavy, shaky breath and look up to find Draco standing over you. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing him to disappear or become someone else. But when you brush your eyes clear, he still remains. He’s dangling a black handkerchief by your face and gives it a small shake, silently encouraging you to take it from him.

Defeated, you snatch it from him and dab at your eyes before running the silk through your fingers. It’s soft and delicate. You wouldn’t dare blow your nose into it. You keep yourself curled in tight, clutching the handkerchief like it brings you some kind of comfort.

Draco lowers himself onto the floor next to you, coming down onto his knees by your side. You keep your gaze off of him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of giving in. You focus your attention onto the little slip of silk and how it feels gliding through your fingers.

A gentle hand on your elbow startles you and you look sharply at Draco, ready to rip your arm away from him and admonish him for touching you. The look in his eyes, the soft and friendly _just trust me_ look he gives you causes the scolding to die on your tongue. You tear your eyes away from his, but allow him to guide your arm off of your knee and stretch it out.

He reaches into his robe and pulls out his own wand. You watch him curiously, but avoid his eyes. He holds your arm in one hand and presses the tip of the wand just barely against your mark. He incants the concealment charm firmly and the Dark Mark fades once again from your skin.

If you weren’t so determined to hate him, you might have wrapped your arms around his neck and hugged him. It’s a small gesture. It doesn’t mean much in practicality since you’re sure you won’t be returning to the party, but that doesn’t stop the way it warms your heart and takes a small weight from your shoulders. Your breathing is finally slowing and the tears are more controlled.

He puts his wand away and carefully folds your arm back onto your knees where it was before. His touch lingers, giving you a reassuring squeeze that begs you to take his hand and return the gesture. You resist, keeping the handkerchief clutched in your fist to ensure you wouldn’t reach for him. His hand slips off your arm and he picks your wand off the floor where he’d set it. He offers it to you and you take it with a forced, thankful smile.

When you go to hand his handkerchief back to him in return, he shakes his head and leans away from you.

“Keep it,” he tells you. You blink your eyes to meet his and it takes everything you have not to collapse into his chest and hold onto him tightly. There’s no pity in him, no thinly veiled sympathy, but a deep rooted empathy instead. It’s the understanding, the similarity, the parallel comfort that you’ve been craving the last few weeks in a single look. In that moment, he felt like your best friend again.

The curious call of your name from Ginny coming into the corridor breaks the moment into pieces. Draco ducks his chin and moves to stand quickly. A sweep of air chills you as he moves away.

Ginny looks between the two of you and teeters with your found hat awkwardly in her hands, unsure if she should interrupt or leave and honestly, you’re not sure which you would have preferred either.

“McGonagall is looking for you,” she tells Draco.

“Of course she is,” he sneers back. Neither of them say anything more to the other as they pass essentially trading places, but they do share a look you can’t quite place. Ginny comes down to your side as Draco moves to the far end of the hall.

“Are you okay?” she asks, coming to a crouch next to you and stroking her hand down the back of your head to your shoulder. You nod, not trusting your voice just yet. “I’ll go with you back to your room.”

She helps you to your feet and straightens your dress for you. Giving you a smile, she delicately places your hat back on your head and carefully loops her arm with yours. You smile back timidly, but appreciatively as she leads your wobbly legs back to your room.

Before leaving the corridor, you look back over your shoulder. Draco stands there, not quite facing you and staring down at his hand that he’s slowly flexing into a fist and then releasing, as if it hurt. He looks up at you just before you walk out of sight and you can’t help but to crave having him next to you instead of Ginny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are enjoying this. It’s going to be just a hint of a slow burn!
> 
> Kudos and comments are always VERY appreciated! 
> 
> If you’re really feeling generous, buy me a coffee!   
> https://ko-fi.com/writerashley
> 
> Keep up with my progress on Instagram!   
> https://www.instagram.com/thatfandomwriter/


	4. A Strong Brew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay… I reference “a foot” as a measurement of length here. I’m sorry. I’m American. I know it’s wrong. But a meter was too long and saying 30cm just sounds so specific. Please don’t skewer me.

_October 1998_

You sit in Headmistress McGonagall’s office the next day, wringing your hands in your lap and feeling small. You had no intentions of leaving your room today and had intended on staying in bed wallowing in your sadness. A summons from McGonagall put a pin in that plan however. You must admit, even though walking through the halls had been daunting, it did make you feel better to at least put on fresh clothes and wash your face.

McGonagall rounds her desk after shutting her office door and stands next to her chair instead of sitting in it. You take a breath, strangely nervous, and look up to her. Her face is fairly expressionless, but her eyes are soft.

“You have Hogwarts’ and my personal apologies for what happened at the ball,” she tells you sincerely. “The behavior that boy displayed was unacceptable and there are quite serious repercussions in process.” You give a small appreciative smile, but lower your head down again. Honestly, you didn’t want such a fuss to be made. It makes disappearing quite difficult. “We want you to know you have the full support of the Hogwarts staff and your efforts in the war are not forgotten nor minimalized.” Her voice is stern, but compassionate and while you feel as though you don’t deserve the praise, it does give you a little bit of validation which takes a little bit of weight off of you.

“Thank you.” Your voice is sheepish, but you at least look up to meet her eyes as you speak.

“Is there anything we can do for you?” she asks kindly. You take a moment to think, eyes darting side to side for a moment, feeling like you should have some kind of an answer.

“I don’t think so,” you say finally. Before she can speak, a knock on her door interrupts.

“Come in,” she beckons. You hear the door open, but don’t look back, not particularly interested in seeing who has entered. That is, until she greets, “Ah, Mister Malfoy. Please step in.”

The look on his face when you turn around is something between irritation and forced complacency. You notice a bandage on his right hand, but he shifts it closer to his side and tries to keep it out of view. You turn back in your seat and focus on your hands again.

“Madam Pomfrey assured me your hand will heal by the end of the day.” She nods her chin towards him as he approaches her desk to stand at the empty chair next to you. “Mister Dolohov’s face, however, will unfortunately have remaining bruising for some time due to a sudden shortage of arnica.”

 _Wait a moment._ Did Draco _hit_ Dolohov? You glance to Draco just in time to see him look away from you and avoid your questioning eyes. You take another look at his hand, the bandage around the knuckles. He did, didn’t he? _But why?_

“You understand we do not condone violence of any kind, even for altruistic reasons.” Her tone is stern, but there’s something in it that lacks the powerful scolding nature the words demand. In fact, she sounds even a little bored with the lecture. She hadn’t sounded particularly remorseful about Dolohov’s bruising either. “Therefore, you will be given two detentions each week for four consecutive weeks which will be served out in the library under my supervision.” Draco sighs heavily and barely contains an eye roll.

“Yes ma’am,” he says arbitrarily.

“Now,” she snaps at him, clearly not amused with his lack of respect. “As you understand I am a busy woman with a school to run and may not always be able to attend your detentions in person.” There’s a sly undertone despite her stony expression. “I expect that at these times, you will behave properly and serve your detention out on your own.” Both you and Draco catch up to her at the same time. Detention without supervision? Clearly just a formality. “Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” he repeats in a much more respectful manner now that he realizes he’s not _actually_ being scolded.

“Try not to punch anyone else if you can help it,” is her dismissal to him before she looks back to you. “Are you sure there’s nothing more we can do for you?” she asks in a much gentler tone. You simply shake your head, still trying to process the evening itself, let alone the apparent news of Draco punching the boy. “If anyone troubles you further, please don’t hesitate to let us know.”

Draco leaves first with you trailing behind. You feel as though you should thank him or at least say something to acknowledge what he did. It was an act of chivalry, even if it was a violent one. It was a protective gesture. Could he possibly still care about you? Or did he just feel personal offense since he also bears your same mark?

“Draco,” you call to him before he’s able to hurry himself away.

“What?” he snaps bitterly as he spins on his toes back to you, face full of irritation and impatience. The gratitude sputters and dies on your tongue and you feel yourself draw back with pause.

“Nothing,” you sigh. “Nevermind.” There’s a small shake of his head and an angry eye roll before he twists back around and whisks himself away.

~~~

_November 1998_

The chatter and fascination with what happened at the ball calms down a lot faster than you expected. Dolohov was put on a strict probation and not allowed to use magic unless supervised by a professor. The opinion of his punishment was split amongst the students. Many thought it was too harsh for such a small prank. You were surprised to hear how many people had agreed it was fitting, however. Granted, they weren’t necessarily concerned about you as a person, but agreed that bullying in general was intolerable and severe punishment was warranted.

Jane, the girl from the dance who has become increasingly friendly towards you, walks you to potions this morning. She doesn’t loop her arm with yours like Ginny normally does, but she stands close enough and talks directly to you, making it very obvious that she is with you. You appreciate it. The halls are much easier to walk with a friend.

She leaves you with a wave and a smile and a little bit of hope that today will be a good day. That hope is broken when Slughorn announces the assignment for today; a partner project. You know what’s coming next because whatever God existed out there clearly has it in for you. There’s exactly zero surprise in you when he pairs you with Draco, only dread and defeat.

Everyone stands from their seats to shift around and sit next to their partners. It’s obvious Draco has no intention of moving from his original seat, so you gather your things and approach him. The bastard doesn’t even look at you. You give a huff and noisily sit down to his left, scraping your chair deliberately along the floor as you scoot in. He still doesn’t look over to you.

Two potions, one grade. That is the assignment. You can either work together to ensure a good grade or you can work alone, one on each potion, and just hope the other doesn’t mess theirs up. Judging by the way Draco slides the recipe for the Calming Draught across the table to you, you assume you’re going with the second option.

The rest of the classroom is filled with reasonable chatter as the other pairs discuss their assigned potions and how to handle them. It makes the silence coming from Draco all the more noticeable, but you push through it.

It’s about halfway through the lesson when your potion turns a dull grey and has a sickly smell permeating from it. You’ve clearly done something wrong. You rifle through your notes, the recipe, your potions book, trying desperately to figure out what went wrong.

“Merlin’s beard! Stop stirring it!” Draco hisses besides you. You look to your cauldron dumbly, not even having realized you’d forgotten to end the enchantment on your wooden spoon so it continues to spin round and round. You grab the spoon and snatch it out of the cauldron, embarrassed by the mistake. “You always were rubbish with potions,” he comments snidely.

“Rubbish at potions, dreadful at charms,” you say mostly to yourself, staring at the ruined potion with disdain. “Is there anything I’m not terrible at?” He gives an annoyed sigh at your side and then quickly stands to leave. You glance at his potion while he’s gone and of course, it has that indicative silver vapor floating up from his perfectly brewed Draught of Peace.

Your shoulders slouch and you put your face in your hands. Perhaps you could find some satisfaction from taking Draco’s grade down with you. Serves him right for being a prat.

There’s a clatter on the table in front of you and when you remove your hands from your face, you see ingredients splayed out on the table. You look at Draco quizzically as he starts to open the bottle containing lavender.

“I don’t fancy a failing grade today,” he tells you sharply. “Make yourself useful and measure out the peppermint.” He pushes another bottle to you before coming back around the table to sit in his chair. You expect him to pull the cauldron towards him in order to take over, but instead he moves his chair closer to you in order to reach it. You try not to look at him or pay attention to how close he is as he uses his wand to clear the contents. “Let’s not use a stirring enchantment like a first year this time.”

“Are you going to mock me the whole time?” you snap at him as you do your part and carefully put the peppermint sprigs on the scale.

“Only when you deserve it.” His reply makes your skin prickle and an anger bubble in you, but it fades rather quickly when he briefly looks at you from the side of his eye and his lips just barely turn upwards from his scowl. It’s a phrase you’ve said to him many times over the years, sometimes seriously and sometimes friendly or flirtatiously. And he’s repeating it back to you, making a callback to your friendship. You have no words for him.

You’d imagined saying that sentence in a completely different manner before. You’d had fantasies of him beneath you, begging for release and you kissing along his skin teasingly. _Only when you deserve it._ You never had a chance to attempt making that fantasy anything more than that, having only been with him the one time, but that didn’t stop your mind from conjuring the image up periodically. It has been quite some time since it resurfaced, but now that it’s there again, it’s hard to shake.

When you don’t offer him a reply, Draco returns to the potion, taking the peppermint from you and crushing it with the mortar. You feel as though you should have said something, should have acknowledged that his reference was not unwanted, but you can’t bring yourself to find anything appropriate to say.

“Measure these again,” he instructs, handing the mortar with the peppermint back to you. “After they’re crushed, you typically lose a little bit of weight. Usually not enough to make a difference, but every bit counts when the potion brewer is incompetent.” It’s said much more sharply than his last jab and you straighten your back, trying not to let it hurt you.

“Seeing as how you’re the one doing all the work so far, I am assuming you’re referring to your own incompetence,” you quip back at him. He leans back in his chair comfortably and fans his hand over the table.

“If you want to do it yourself, by all means, give it a try.” Bristling at his challenge, you huff and face the table fully with determination. You will not let him be so satisfied.

You dump the peppermint into the cauldron and pick up the jar of pre-mixed base liquids. You struggle momentarily with the lid, but manage to get it off without making a fool of yourself or spilling the contents everywhere. Chin held high, you begin to pour the jar on top of the peppermint. Draco’s hand is suddenly covering yours, holding onto you and titling the jar back up. The contact startles you, your body giving a small jolt as he puts a hand on the back of your chair and leans in near you.

“Slower,” he commands, his voice almost a whisper this close to you. “It’s a _Calming_ Draught. If you rush it, it doesn’t work.” He guides your hand, directing the liquid to flow languidly from the jar. “Better.” You can feel his breath just barely reach your neck. His arm is outstretched, nearly outlining your own and his chest bumps into your shoulder. He’s practically cradling you into him and you’re not entirely sure how you feel about it.

The warmth of his body is familiar. Your body remembers what it feels like to have his arms wrap around you, to hold you tight and give you comfort or pleasure. Your arm tingles at the memory of his fingertips gliding down your skin, intertwining his fingers with yours. You remember it, feel it, all too easily.

But there’s still that anger, the resentment that fights the warm, good feelings. It puts a block up and prevents the threat of euphoria rushing in. It’s the thing stopping you from turning your head to look at him which you’re fairly certain ran a high risk of ending up with his lips on yours. Instead, you focus on your breathing, on calming your racing heart.

When the jar is empty, Draco releases your hand and the jar, pulling away and leaving the space beside you with an empty chill. He crosses steps off of the recipe with a quill before tipping the feather towards the cauldron.

“Stir it five times. That’s all,” he instructs, seemingly oblivious to what his presence had done to you.

“Slowly?” you confirm, somewhat surprised your voice didn’t quake. He hums and nods approvingly, but keeps his focus on the recipe.

He continues to direct you on what ingredients to add when and how many times to stir the concoction. He’s firm in his instructions, but the jabs have ceased at least. He’s also keeping his distance and remaining in his chair, away from your personal space. And that… makes you anxious somehow.

You find yourself wondering if he’ll come back and when. Any movement he makes, you feel yourself tense up with anticipation, but he doesn’t come any closer than he already is. What’s more is that you recognize the tension is not unpleasant. You aren’t dreading his warmth. You’re craving it.

You glance down. There’s absolutely no more than a foot of space between your chairs. Almost unconsciously, you uncross your legs and shift your right one to shorten the empty space. It’s not enough to touch him and you take a moment to contemplate if you even want to. If he’s allowed to touch you, to get into your space, shouldn’t you be allowed the same?

You twist your hips towards him, planting your foot firmly in the space between the chairs’ front legs. You put your weight on it and lift up from your chair, reaching across the table in front of him to pick up a piece of parchment with notes on it that you don’t particularly need nor want. Your knee bumps into his and your sudden arrival into his personal bubble seems to shock him ever so slightly as he looks up in confusion. You sit back down quickly, but place yourself on the right most part of the chair which allows you to keep your knee pressed to his.

You give him a shy smile as a show of thanks for letting you steal his notes and pretend to read them. Your eyes gloss over the words, but you can’t comprehend a single one with Draco making no move to shift away from your touch. He doesn’t push back either though. He focuses back on the recipe and lets you just stay there.

That is until his hand is on your knee. It pushes you away and doesn’t linger and for a moment, dread drops down into your stomach like a stone, heavy with rejection. His push is gentle though and it has a purpose when he stands up next to you in the space your leg had occupied and leans over the cauldron to peer inside. He’s close again now, this time his hip is the part of him almost pressing into your shoulder as he hinges his waist and puts his hands flat on the table.

“Come here,” he tells you. You follow his lead, hands on table and leaning over the cauldron. “What do you smell?” You take a moment to refocus on the potion and inhale deeply.

“Lavender,” you tell him. “It’s faint though.”

“Exactly.” His palm shifts on the table and the side of his hand molds to yours. “That means it needs more. You shouldn’t have to think about it. It should be potent.” He leans away from you to grab the bowl with the extra lavender. In doing so, she shifts his hand again, the heel of his palm drifting away from you, but his little finger making up for lost contact by slipping casually over your own.

“I thought we used what the recipe called for?” It’s hard to focus on the potion, but you do your best even with air trapped in your chest and the urge to slip your entire hand under his.

“The heat was a little too high,” he explains. “It reduced too quickly. We can fix that by adding a pinch or two more.” He lifts the bowl up towards you, encouraging you to do the honors. His expression is even and unbothered by the two of you touching. He waits patiently, watching you carefully until you make the decision to use your left hand to pinch the lavender with and deliberately leave your right one with him.

His expression remains unchanged as his little finger reaches and strokes the knuckle of your ring finger a single time before resting back down over your pinky. Why was such a small touch so invigorating? How did he keep such a straight face? He must know you’re not unaffected by this.

“More?” you ask quietly after dropping a single pinch into the cauldron. He takes a moment, contemplating and curling his little finger to wrap under yours.

“Can you handle more?” The flirtatious tease comes to his voice just as quick as it comes to his eyes. It’s a challenge, but it’s at least recognition that you hadn’t been imagining everything he’s been doing. You keep your eyes on him as you add another pinch to the potion. “Good,” he praises. “Now stir.”

He pulls away slowly, letting his touch and his warmth drag along you as he sits back in his seat. You let out a breath you’ve apparently been holding and give the potion a delicate, calculated stir. Draco settles back in his chair and crosses his left ankle over his knee, causing his left knee to protrude into the space between your chairs. You have no doubts that the motion is made with intent.

You oblige his silent invitation. Sitting back down yourself, you lean over the table to take notes and shift your right knee out towards him again. It slips beneath his and he pushes down just enough to encourage you to stay there. You don’t dare to look at him, but you can’t keep the smallest smile off your lips as you wait for Slughorn to come by and grade you.

It’s only when he comes by do you break apart and you become acutely aware that you’ve been in a classroom full of people this entire time. Had anyone noticed anything? Surely, they hadn’t. The interactions had been so miniscule and everyone was focused on their own potions, yes?

Slughorn presents you a solid E grade which pleases you greatly. Draco, ever the perfectionist with his grades, had been holding out hope for an O, but it didn’t come to pass. This causes you to be unsure if you owed him a thanks or an apology and end up giving him neither as you clean up.

“Astronomy,” Draco says as he’s putting books into his bag. You look at him, utterly confused.

“Excuse me?” He doesn’t look at you.

“You asked what you’re not terrible at,” he explains as though it was obvious. “You’re quite brilliant in astronomy.”

“Oh.” A compliment. A real, no backhand compliment. “Thank you.” He gives a small nod in response before slipping the strap of his bag over his shoulder, ready to leave.

“Practice your potions more,” he advises and then turns to leave without another word.

You watch him go, still a little confused and excited by the whole lesson. What in the world did any of it mean? What did you _want_ it to mean?

Best not to think about it too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading darling! This has been my absolute favorite chapter to write so far. If you’ve enjoyed, I ask that you throw out some kudos or comment.
> 
> Also! If you don't follow me on tumblr, then you don't know what I'm doing for December! I'm doing one prompt a day, a new character each day. It's gonna be exciting! If you want further updates on that, check me out here https://xfandomwritingsx.tumblr.com/
> 
> If you’re really feeling generous, buy me a coffee!  
> https://ko-fi.com/writerashley 
> 
> Keep up with my progress on Instagram!   
> https://www.instagram.com/thatfandomwriter/


	5. Look to the Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note I made up ALL the astronomy nonsense in this chapter. I did no research. In fact, I took names from another fandom. Suspend that disbelief with me, would you please?

_November 1998_

The month passes oddly. You’re somehow more comfortable and more unsure of yourself at the same time. Ginny’s circle of friends has welcomed you and you’ve met a few new people too. Having friends and acquaintances gives you the confidence to walk through the halls without looking at your shoes the entire way at least. However, there’s still a little part of you that wonders if everyone is just waiting to turn on you. You try not to let yourself think about that too often though.

As far as Draco goes, you think you consider things to be better. There’s less tension now and you’ve stopped purposefully avoiding each other. You don’t speak, don’t make eye contact, but neither of you deliberately create more distance. While you never choose seats next to each other in class, you never choose seats on opposite ends of the room either. It feels almost like a truce.

Yet, you’re still not satisfied with it. You can’t shake the little pull you have towards him. You think about him more than you want to admit to anyone and you have to repress the urge to approach him some days. Your eyes sometimes drift towards him during class or during meals, as if pulled by a magnet and every once in a while, though you never catch him, you swear you can feel him watching you too.

~~~

It’s the last Thursday of the month and you lie to yourself as you walk to the library. You tell yourself it’s because you need the third volume of Goblin Wars for your History of Magic paper and not because you know it’s Draco’s last day of detention. You almost believe yourself too.

The library is quiet, but not silent. Pince has been much more lenient this year on noise. The bustle of everyone provides a little white noise through the shelves and you’ve found that you quite enjoy it. The silence can get unnerving as you wind in and out of aisles.

It doesn’t take you long at all before spotting Draco. He’s standing in the front of a shelf by a group of tables with a cart of books he’s currently putting back to their proper place. You’re a little surprised he’s actually doing work since this detention is essentially a façade. You expected him to be seated at a table and reading or perhaps doing homework.

He’s in the nature section and despite having convinced yourself you’ve come here for history, you also manage to convince yourself that you could benefit from browsing the plants and herbs books for potions. You start at the opposite end of the shelves as him, forcing yourself to keep your eyes on the books instead of flitting to him.

You skim your fingers over the spines of various texts, adding to your illusion of actually looking through the books. Your feet walk you down the aisle of books, bringing you closer to Draco’s cart, but still not looking at him. When you’re sure you’re well within his field of vision, you pull a random book off the shelf and start to flip through it.

Honestly, you’re not quite sure what you expect to happen. It’s not as though he would grab your hand and whisk you off somewhere to tell you he’s sorry and he misses you. Is that what you want, though?

You take a chance and cast your eyes in his direction. He doesn’t acknowledge you, doesn’t look back at you, doesn’t even give any inclination that he realizes you’re there. He simply picks books off the cart, checks their tags, and files them away. There’s a small stone of disappointment in your belly as you snap the book closed and put it back carefully. It was foolish to expect anything else.

Disheartened and a little embarrassed at yourself, you walk back to the history section. Might as well get the book you’re supposed to be here for.

The section isn’t very far back, but due to the lack of popularity for the subject, the aisle and most surrounding it are void of people. Your shoes are soft against the new carpet and you wonder how long it will be before someone drags mud onto it. Not that it mattered when there were cleaning spells, but it just seemed rude anyways.

You scan the titles of the books, paying attention this time to find the one you need. The Goblin Wars texts should be nearby. You stand on your tiptoes to look at the higher shelves and then crouch down for the lower. No luck yet, so you keep shuffling sideways down the aisle.

You hear the squeak of a wheel and around the corner to your left comes the book cart followed by Draco pushing it along. You pause your search and swallow thickly. He looks at you this time, his face even and lacking any true expression to decipher, but his eyes meet yours for just a moment and you nearly feel paralyzed, just waiting for him to do something.

His look lasts for only a few moments before he puts his focus back on the books in the cart. Feeling defeated yet again, you follow suit and return to your search for your book. This time it only takes a few seconds to find the series. Your triumphant smile is short lived however, when you see that the volume you need is missing.

“Bugger,” you mutter under your breath. What a complete waste of time.

“Writing your History of Magic paper?” Draco’s voice startles you and your shoulders actually jump just slightly at the sound of him speaking. He’s rolled the cart closer to you now and is continuing to file books away.

“Uhhh, yeah,” you bumble. Draco walks around to the other side of the cart, standing next to you.

“Everyone is, evidently,” he comments, reaching his hand into a lower shelf on the cart. “Gets checked out the same day it gets checked back in.” He straightens up and casually holds out the third volume in front of you, having had it on his cart.

“Oh,” you say dumbly before moving to accept it from him. “Thank you.” His hand drops from the book the moment you have hold of it, withdrawing as though you may burn him. He hums in response and goes back to his cart.

You stand there awkwardly. It seems rude to just turn around and leave, but what else is there to say? You’re not friends. You’re barely even acquaintances anymore, but there’s history that makes ignoring each other impossible. You also have a hard time believing that out of all the books he has to put away, the section you were in just happened to be next on his list. So had he followed you? Did _he_ want something from you?

“How’s your hand?” you ask politely. You can see as he slides books into their places that there’s not a bruise on his hand. No indication at all that he had previously punched someone in the face.

“It’s fine,” he responds shortly, not even passing you a glance as you speak. You consider leaving it at that, but you hadn’t acknowledged what he’d done at all. It had been an act of virtue, hadn’t it? You owed him some kind of thanks, did you not?

“You didn’t have to do it.” Apparently you are incapable of putting the words _thank_ and _you_ together.

“I know.” His voice has a confidence to it that reminds you of the old Draco. It makes it hard not to smile at him.

He turns his head just enough to be able to look at you. It’s amazing and terrifying the way a single look from him can turn into a fool. His eyes are bright and full of life, full of something that you miss in him. The small smirk on his lips implies a flirtation you’ve been craving and you think that’s what’s going to take your breath away, but then it fades into something softer and his eyes slip down your face to your mouth and _that’s_ when it feels like your heart’s stopped beating.

“Well that’s cute,” a bitter voice interrupts. Both of you look down the aisle to the right and see Dolohov standing there and glaring in your direction. You can practically feel Draco bristle besides you while you feel the desire to shrink away. He sounds so loud in the otherwise quiet and content library. “Secret date?” he teases, slowly approaching you both. His smile is angry. “Oh no, I forgot. You’re serving a fake detention.”

“Back off,” Draco spits. It doesn’t deter his approach.

“Or what? You’re going to deck me again?” He runs a finger along the shelves for no reason other than to take up space. “You got off easy with this joke of a detention.” Draco shifts besides you, moving as though to circle around you and step out in front, but another voice halts him.

“I’m sorry to hear you find my punishments unsatisfactory,” McGonagall says. Looking around, quite confused as to where she is, you see her through the gaps of books in the next aisle over. Dolohov grinds his jaw. “Perhaps you’d like to discuss the details of punishments with me further to understand how I treat them?” The woman never fails to sound proper and threatening at the same time. Dolohov says nothing in response and averts his eyes from you and Draco. “If not, then I ask you carry on and leave my pupil alone as Mr. Malfoy has not finished serving his detention.”

With one more glare, Dolohov slinks away in silence. You hear McGonagall close a book and slide it back on the shelf and watch the shadow of her figure start to move down the row. She doesn’t disappear from sight or leave the aisle and you take the opportunity to flash Draco a small smile and retreat yourself.

~~~

The last day of the month sneaks up on you and with exams hot on your heels, you’ve been throwing yourself into schoolwork. You’d returned your volume of Goblin Wars the day after taking it, feeling a little guilty for checking out a book you didn’t truly need when everyone else was vying for it. History is not a subject you particularly cared about exceeding in. Your focus was on Astronomy.

Having always been one of your favorites, it’s the one you work on the most. Not because you need to, but because you want to. Enjoying it makes studying feel like a break or a hobby, something you desperately needed nowadays. It gives you comfort.

And since you’re still hunting down a specific constellation for extra credit, it’s not a surprise you’ve hauled yourself up to the astronomy tower at near midnight tonight. It takes less than fifteen minutes for you to spread your notes over the open floor and adjust the telescope to your liking.

You scan the sky, taking peace in the quiet of the night. There’s a chill in the air, but with your robe on, it’s not bad. It’s crisp and make you feel alive, gives you an energy you wouldn’t otherwise have this late at night. You sit on the floor amongst your notes and make some calculations on your star map, happily content.

Your peace is broken though when you hear the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. Dread and annoyance fill you as the steps sound closer and you watch the archway to see who’s about to ruin your night. You hope against hope that it’s a professor doing a sweep.

You see Draco’s platinum hair first as he ascends the stairs. Your chest tightens with anticipation, both good and bad. He’s got a bag slung over his shoulder and an open book in his hands, his eyes cast down on the words as he climbs the tower stairs. It takes him until he’s on the floor to look up and notice you there. There’s an air of disappoint around him when he sees you. His shoulders slink down and his posture slouches as he chews on his tongue.

“I’ll come back later,” he says, already turning around.

“Extra credit?” the words are out of your mouth before you can process them and make them sound a little more intelligent. They get Draco to pause his exit however, and raise an eyebrow at you over his shoulder. You clear your throat and try again. “Are you here to do the extra credit for Astronomy?”

“I am,” he answers plainly.

“I’ve got the telescope calibrated and pointed at what I think is the right direction.” You say it as an offer, a way to tell him you don’t mind if he stays, though you’re not sure it comes across that way since he still looks at you with an arched brow. “You can double check it, if you want.” That’s at least a little clearer. He considers it for a moment before turning back around to the tower and stepping further inside.

“I’ll trust your calculations,” he says, slipping the bag off his shoulder and onto the ground not far from you.

The silence that follows is deafening. You can hear every little shuffle he makes, every page you turn in great, painful detail. It feels awkward, but Draco shows no indication that the silence bothers him so every time your mouth falls open to say something, you falter and snap it back shut.

As he flips through his notes, your eyes fall upon an exam of his with a large red _P_ on it. Draco had gotten a Poor on an exam? That isn’t like him at all. You’ve never seen him receive anything less than a passing grade even at the end of your Sixth Year. He’d also always done quite well in Astronomy. Though now that you think about it, he’d always used your notes. And studied with you. And asked you questions. And occasionally copied your homework. But now he didn’t have you and your mind drifts back to when he admitted you were brilliant at Astronomy. Had you really been the reason he did well in that course?

He notices you staring at his exam and defensively snatches it off the ground with a glare. You glance up just long enough to give him what you hope to be an apologetic look before returning to your own work. You honestly hadn’t meant to snoop.

You stand and walk to a smaller telescope to break the awkward tension. Focusing on your work, you lean over to peer through the lens and scan the sky. You decided to take a different approach tonight and instead of looking for the entire constellation, find a single star to orient yourself to the right location. It’s proving difficult with a cloudy sky, but you do finally find it.

It takes quite a few minutes and a couple of readjustments on the telescope to see it clearly, but when you do, you feel a little excitement course through you.

“Draco,” you call him, waving him over, but not taking your eye off the lens. “I think I found it.” He stands quickly and comes up behind you. “Don’t move it, but I think that bright star to the East is Arishok,” you explain as you pull back. “If it is, then the cluster of stars 2 degrees south of it should be The Geth constellation.”

You had intended on stepping out of the way, but Draco must have taken your instructions not to move the telescope and your hands firmly on the controls to mean you would not be doing so. He steps closer behind you and leans over your shoulder to look through the lens, his face next to yours. You know you should move, but the sudden proximity of him has you paralyzed.

His cologne is something earthy with a sweet undertone and it’s not so heavy handed that you choke on it when you inhale. It’s light and airy, almost like a whisper through the air. You swallow thickly, face already flushing from the heat of his body being so close. You try desperately not to move. Shift forward and you may knock the telescope out of place. Shift back and you’ll bump into his chest. Both would make you embarrassed so you stand as still as you possibly can.

“Are you sure that star isn’t The Northen Orlais star?” he questions, pulling back slightly to look at you. You shake your head quickly and try to find a steadiness in your voice.

“The Northern Orlais star wouldn’t be visible tonight. It’s either Arishok or Red Celene.”

“It’s not Red Celene,” he says firmly. “It’s too small.”

“Exactly,” you conclude with a small smile. “So it has to be Arishok.” He looks back into the telescope and hums.

“Then you’re right,” he says. He moves to put a hand on one of the controls where your own still resides. There’s a brief moment of hesitation when his hand finds yours and your heart skips around in your chest. Then his hand drapes over yours, taking hold of both you and the control and you stop breathing again. “And this...” He moves the telescope ever so slightly to guide it to the cluster of stars. “Is the Geth constellation.” He pulls his head away from the lens, but does not withdraw his hand. “Right?”

It takes you a few strained breaths before you realize he’s urging you to confirm he’s got the telescope pointed at the right cluster. He moves away only enough for you to duck your eye to the lens and it’s hard to focus on the dots of stars when you can feel his breath on the back of your neck.

“I do believe we found it.” Your voice is dry and quiet no matter how much effort you put into ignoring the way Draco’s presence affects you. “We should note the coordinates,” you advise shakily.

“That would be how we get credit, yes.” His snarky response earns him a small look of displeasure from you which only makes him smirk back.

“Technically you didn’t even find it,” you retort. “I should keep the coordinates to myself and let you start from scratch.” You slip your hand carefully out from under his and turn around to face him fully. In doing so, you manage to step to the side of the telescope, allowing you to put a little more distance between your bodies.

“You wouldn’t do that.” You don’t particularly like the arrogance he projects, but it’s hard to be mad at it when he’s right. You weren’t cruel enough to do that to him, especially after seeing his exam score.

“Why shouldn’t I?” you argue defiantly. “We’re not friends.” His confidence fades and he prickles.

“Friend or not, it’s pretty clear we still work well together.” You can tell he doesn’t like admitting it. There’s a slightly bitter tone to his words and he draws back. “And you owe me for helping you with your potion,” he reminds you. You can’t deny either statement, unfortunately. You twist your mouth uncomfortably.

“Oh, take the coordinates,” you concede with a disgruntled wave of your hand. “This makes us even though.” He takes a few steps back, returning to his notes for his notebook to record the information.

“Until the next time you screw up a potion,” he teases.

“Or the next time you fail an exam?” He prickles again and he looks annoyed. You take that as a small win and strut confidently to your own notebook to jot down your findings. Draco doesn’t offer a comeback and the remainder of your time there is spent plunged into silence again.

After writing a few notes, both of you shuffle your papers back in order and file them away into your bags accordingly. You finish first and open your mouth to offer a goodbye, but reconsider and simply make your way towards the stairs. The sound of him calling your name surprises you.

“Make you a deal,” he says. “I’ll help you not blow up cauldrons and you figure out Astronomy for me.” You watch him as he walks casually towards the telescope and consider his offer.

“I’m not going to do it for you, but I’ll help you figure it out yourself.” You catch his lips tilt into a small smile at your correction. He spins a dial on the scope and then nudges the lens with his shoulder to move it.

“Can’t have someone come up here and just stumble into all our hard work,” he explains once he notices your questioning look. You roll your eyes at him. Typical Draco. “Do we have a deal?”

“I suppose we do.” You both watch each other for a few moments longer than you should. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a long delay! December was a super busy time and so far January is just flying by. I hope everyone is staying safe! If you’ve enjoyed, I ask that you like, comment, reblog, or if you’re really feeling generous, buy me a coffee!   
> https://ko-fi.com/writerashley

**Author's Note:**

> I just got myself into another long haul story. Hopefully you’re ready to ride with me! If so, let me know with kudos and comments! If you’re really feeling generous, buy me a coffee! https://ko-fi.com/writerashley
> 
> Keep up with my progress on Instagram! https://www.instagram.com/thatfandomwriter/
> 
> I'm ready if you are! Next part will be posted on 10/15!


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